


Begging for It

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Series: Stucky - Desperately in Love Universe [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Begging, Black skinny jeans, Blushing, Blushing Bucky Barnes, Bucky's poor wardrobe choices, Bucky's ridiculous internal monologue, Coming In Pants, Consensual Kink, Crying, Crying Bucky Barnes, Desperation Play, Dom Steve Rogers, Human Disaster Bucky Barnes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Omorashi, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Sort of scene, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Swearing, Water, Watersports, Weirdly intimate niche porn, Wetting, What Have I Done, married, pee desperation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: Bucky and Steve play a game. It involves begging to pee. Bucky regrets his life choices so fucking much lately. But not really, because he is turned the fuck on.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky - Desperately in Love Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743424
Comments: 16
Kudos: 221





	Begging for It

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a sequel to Not Supposed To (Know Me So Intimately). They work better when read together.
> 
> Also, if you want more specific tags and warnings, please check out the A/N at the end of this work. 
> 
> Finally, my sincerest apologies to Bucky Barnes for what I have done to you. Enjoy, everyone!

They’re on the couch. It’s soft and new, a creamy faux-leather to replace the one Bucky pissed all over a few weeks ago. Steve had picked it out because it came with something called scotch-guard. He said that made it easy to clean. The clock reads 4pm, and Bucky is half hard, trying and failing to pay attention to the movie that’s playing on the screen.

There are three empty glasses on the coffee table in front of him.

None of them are Steve’s.

In fact, Steve is annoyingly comfortable and casual right now. He’s sprawled out on the couch beside him, eating popcorn out of a large bowl like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Occasionally, he reaches out a hand without looking, feeds Bucky a handful. He says the salt is important. It also makes him thirstier, and the water goes down more easily, so Bucky doesn’t complain. Plus, who the fuck doesn’t like popcorn? That would be fucking insane.

He shifts, sort of grinding himself down into the soft, buttery leatherette. His ever-present black skinny jeans, so dark they look like pitch, feel very constricting. He’s wearing a small black t-shirt, too. It’s one size too small, just like Bucky likes all his clothes these days. And honestly, why is he _like_ this? His clothes are tight enough and his body is cut enough that it’s going to fucking _show_ later, and then Steve will never let him hear the end of it.

Bucky sighs internally and tries not to move around too much.

Steve will _know._

He’s been annoyingly engrossed in the movie this whole time, and Bucky just flat out fucking _refuses_ to give Steve the satisfaction.

He can hold out.

He’s _fine_.

He moves his foot a little to the right, giving himself a little room.

His black boot makes a slight squeak on the wooden floor.

Fuck.

 _Why_ does he always have to wear shoes in the house? Is it a holdover from living through a war? Is it a Winter Soldier thing? Is it just because he’s vain as fuck and the outfit just doesn’t look badass enough without the boots to tie it all together? Goddamnit, it’s probably all three.

Regardless, he’s wearing boots on his fucking _couch_ and they make a sound because he isn’t paying attention, too distracted by the steadily growing pressure in his abdomen and the roiling in his brain to _remember_ _his fucking_ _training_. So yeah. He slips and makes a sound.

And fuck his life, because Steve _notices_.

Of course he fucking does.

Steve leans forward, gaze still plastered to the movie, like none of this is a big deal. Like Bucky _isn’t_ having a silent breakdown right next to him.

He just leans forward and _pours_.

He hands Bucky the glass without looking.

Their fingers never even touch, Steve just trusting that Bucky will take the glass before it falls. Utterly convinced that Bucky will do what he wants.

It should be annoying.

It _is_.

But it’s also hot as fuck.

“Drink.” Steve says, and he says it in his Captain America voice. Like it’s an order.

And fuck, Bucky knows that it is.

Steve will make it worse for him if he doesn’t listen. He knows this.

Because, God help him, they _talked_ about it.

That’s right, he sat across from Steve on this very couch, legs underneath him, protected in his oversized black hoodie and a pair of torn-up black leggings, and _discussed_ all of this depravity beforehand.

Like a fucking masochist.

Which, he supposes, he kind of is.

Oh, fuck.

Jesus, he has to piss.

It’s to the point where he can’t stop thinking about it.

Drinking a fourth glass is going to put him over the edge, he’s sure of it.

And he can just see, out of the corner of his eye, that Steve has at least two more glasses lined up beside the pitcher of water on the floor by his feet.

Which are bare, because Steve, unlike him, is not an idiot who puts form over function in his own fucking home. He is also decidedly less paranoid. Which is really saying something, because Steve is not exactly _not_ paranoid.

Bucky takes a deep breath.

“You better be drinking,” Steve says, low and menacing, but still with that edge of Captain America authority in his voice. He’s still looking at the damn screen.

Fuck, if Bucky’s bladder wasn’t about to explode, he would be more than half hard right now just from hearing Steve _speak_.

He _has_ to listen.

It’s a fucking _compulsion_.

He can’t _not_ do what Steve wants. Ever.

It’s lead to some pretty spectacularly poor life choices over the years.

He brings the glass to his lips, his stomach clenching up in anticipation. This is going to be so fucking uncomfortable. He takes a deep breath, downs it on one.

Deep inside, something spasms, and he has to fight to keep the wince from showing on his face.

He can’t stop the blush though.

Steve isn’t even looking at him, but Bucky is _absolutely_ sure that Steve still notices.

He bangs the glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than he means to.

The frame shakes.

Steve doesn’t look over, just drawls, slow and knowing, “You okay there, Buck?”

Fuck.

Is he supposed to answer? What was the punishment they agreed on? How bad is it if he can’t get his voice to work in the next five seconds?

He flashes back to that (horrible, embarrassing, _sexy-as-fuck_ ) conversation on the couch.

He’d been so hard, aching in his leggings, face burning with the shame and the _interest_. So much fucking… _interest_. Steve had tried to play it cool, come off all responsible and _dis_ interested, but when they fucked later that night he’d been so into it that he’d broken the headboard clean off.

But in the moment, Steve had been so attentive, detached, _caring_. Bucky had wanted to die on the spot. He tries to think past the _hot-yes-burn_ of the moment, and remember the actual _content_ of the conversation.

Jesus Christ, Barnes, you learned 15 goddamn languages as the Winter Soldier. You seriously can’t remember a single conversation just because you were so fucking _turned on_?

Damn straight.

He’d practically passed out just talking about it.

This shit is _dangerous_.

What had Steve said…that if Bucky drifted off too far, if he didn’t pay enough attention to Steve, that he’d…what?

 _Oh_.

Oh, no.

Steve had said that there wouldn’t be very many questions. He’d liked how the anticipation built in the silence before, and he wanted to feel that again. Bucky had agreed. Fuck, he’d really, _really_ agreed. That had been _so fucking hot_. Bucky had gotten a little lost there, thinking about it. Sue him. But…oh no. He vaguely remembers how Steve had then gone on to say that for every question he did ask that went unanswered, Bucky was getting an additional glass of water.

Oh, fuck.

His bladder feels fuller already.

It’s actually starting to hurt now.

It shouldn’t be this full already.

Should it?

Is it because he’s so turned on? Is that a thing? What the fuck is going _on_?

He was fine – okay, not fine, but _coping_ , five minutes ago. How did it change so fucking fast?

He has to piss.

Right fucking _now_.

There’s a roaring in his ears. His whole body feels like it’s on fire. His skin kind of burns at the edges. He’s starting to shake minutely.

There’s…a voice?

“Oh, Buck,” Steve is saying. His tone is fond on the surface, but there’s something much darker underneath.

Bucky shivers.

Fuck, he almost pissed himself right there.

He tries to slide a surreptitious hand down over his crotch.

Steve, without looking, shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and Bucky _whines_.

Fuck, no. Where did that come from? He has more dignity than this, damn it.

(No, no he doesn’t.)

And now there’s the sound of water being poured, and oh Jesus, his body hears that and just _wants_ to piss.

It’s so bad.

Another glass appears in front of his face. This time Steve does touch him. He takes Bucky’s fingers, and wraps them around the glass. Bucky is shaking too much to do it by himself, so Steve keeps hold of the glass, too, and together they tip it back against Bucky’s lips.

The water slides in.

He doesn’t want to drink it, but Steve said to. He opens up his throat and tries to swallow at intervals.

The water just keeps coming, slow and steady. He wants to take a break, to breathe, to say a fucking _prayer_ for himself because this is too much, he’s too full, and he’s too fucked out already for this to end well for him. But Steve keeps the glass tipped back, same angle, and just forces him to drink.

When it’s empty, Steve takes the glass away.

“Good,” he says, voice low and a little scratchy.

Bucky spasms on the couch like some kind of freak.

Fuck, he _has_ to calm down.

There’s a mess of black gummy bracelets on his right wrist. He’s tempted to play with them, but it’s become a common fidget since his therapist suggested he try them a few weeks ago, and if he gives in to the urge to comfort himself, Steve will know how bad it is.

He doesn’t want Steve to know.

Not yet.

Another fifteen minutes pass, a blur of internal straining and desperately trying to keep his face straight. He’s wearing a studded black belt, because again, he is a _vain idiot_. Bucky regrets _so much_ right now, it is not even funny. It is digging into his bladder _so_ _hard_. Fuck.

He needs to piss. Imminently.

He has to think about something else.

He leans his head back against the couch, closes his eyes. He feels Steve look at him for a moment.

Great, _now_ he decides to look. Perfect, Steve, just great.

“Okay?” Steve’s voice is low, quiet.

“Mmm,” Bucky makes a vague noise of vocal assent. He’s okay, just…you know, dying of pee desperation, no biggie. _Fuck_.

They’d talked about this at length. They’d laid things out. How sometimes they both want it to be spontaneous, how other times it needs to be more of a proper scene, with careful considerations and safeguards in place. They have a word – Azzano – just in case. Bucky is safe, emotionally and physically. And Steve _loves_ him. He knows that. But it still feels vulnerable and scary as fuck to be playing this way with his husband.

He _cares_ what Steve thinks.

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, but he _can’t_ look at him right now. He’ll lose his goddamn mind, start begging or something. No fucking thank you to that.

Reflexively, Bucky scowls.

Steve seems to decide that Bucky is okay for the moment, and turns his gaze back to the movie.

Bucky, going with his typical m.o., turns inward. He focuses on his breathing first, trying to get it under control. A steady in-out of air. He forces himself to relax his arms, his shoulders, his neck. He lets his head loll against the back of the couch, weightless. He goes lower, dropping his focus to his belly. Focuses on the hard fullness there. If he touches his fingers to it, would there be a slight swell? He’s pretty sure there would be, now. He’ll let Steve check for him later. For now, he just revels in the feeling of being full, wanted – _desperate_ , but without the danger.

He feels mentally calmer now, but still physically frantic.

Beside him, he can feel Steve smirking.

Oh God, he’d asked him another question, hadn’t he?

Yup, that’s the sound of water pouring into a glass.

It’s agony, honestly.

Steve’s fingers grip his jaw this time, just _this side_ of hard, and tip his face up to meet the glass that Steve’s holding in his other hand. They make eye contact. Bucky nods.

Because, again, he’s an idiotic masochist at heart.

And Steve is still the same old sadist with a heart of gold – there’s so much love in his eyes that it is almost hard to look at.

The glass tips back.

Steve feeds him the water, a little at a time.

This time, when the glass is done, Bucky groans.

Out loud.

 _Dammit_.

“Oh no,” Steve says, mock concerned, and puts a hand to Bucky’s abdomen. He rubs circles over his shirt. Bucky grits his teeth. Steve just keeps _pressing_.

“I’m soothing you,” Steve says, eyes gleaming.

Bucky glares, then makes a choking noise as Steve slides his hand lower, just above Bucky’s waistline.

“Oh,” Steve says, and it’s probably supposed to come out glib and gleeful, but Steve sort of chokes on the words halfway through. “I can feel you,” he says, sounding awed and turned on as hell.

Bucky groans and throws his head back against the couch again.

Steve is still talking. “I can see a little bulge here. Oh my God, your bladder is so fucking _cute_.”

“I – It’s not –” Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

“You must be so full,” Steve says. It sounds almost worshipful. But his eyes are doing that demonic thing where the black swallows up all the blue. Like a libidinous eclipse. It _does_ things to Bucky, okay?

If he’s not careful, it’s going to make him piss.

And he’s not supposed to.

That’s not the goal here, today.

It’s something else.

Something Bucky doesn’t really want to think about just yet.

His bladder spasms underneath Steve’s hand. He knows Steve can probably feel it.

Shit, well, it seems like they’re rapidly approaching the time where he _is_ going to have to think about it. He never gets his way with these things, anyway. Damn it.

“How much does it hurt?” Steve asks, curious.

“So fucking much,” Bucky replies, doesn’t even have to fucking think about it.

He is _bursting_. Five - no wait, _six_ glasses of water.

His bladder isn’t a water balloon, it’s a fucking above-ground _pool_.

Steve leans down and presses his lips to Bucky’s t-shirt, right where the swell of his bladder is showing.

Fuck, it’s going to make him piss.

He clenches up suddenly, his body spasming.

He looks like an insane spazz monkey. He doesn’t care.

“Whoa,” Steve says. Bucky can see the wet spot on Steve’s jeans where his dick has been leaking steadily.

Steve takes one more look at him, then takes his hands away and turns back to the screen.

Time passes.

Bucky doesn’t even know how much.

He’s floating, but he’s not going to break.

He’s _not_.

Oh God, his bladder is so full it dwarfs everything else in his universe. It hurts so much it’s nearly comical. He’s going to piss his pants soon. It’s…oh shit, it’s time.

He swallows his pride, reminds himself that they both wanted to try this.

“Please,” he says into the silence, his inflection flat and empty.

Beside him, Steve jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

Well, then. Fucking _noted_ , Bucky thinks.

Steve seems to get himself back under control, manages to look back at the TV. But his attention very clearly isn’t on the movie anymore. It never was, and they both know it, but still.

This is…new.

Different.

_Hot as hell._

Bucky waits a few more minutes.

He’s grabbing himself now, very firmly through his jeans.

 _Why_ does he wear such tight clothes? He is going to write himself a damn letter. It’s going to read, _Dear Bucky, Stop being such a vain idiot. Tight clothes make it really hard to hold six goddamn glasses of water in your fucking bladder in front of Steve without looking like an idiot. Buy some looser clothes, you goth-punk peacock._

He’s taking deep, fast breaths through his nose.

Why didn’t he wear fucking sweatpants?

Why the fuck is he _like_ this?

Who wears a _belt_ for this kind of shit?

He’s going to lose it.

“Oh God, _please_ ,” he bursts out. Oh shit. He didn’t mean to say it.

“What did you say?” Steve is turning to look at him. His eyes are burning, the thinnest sliver of blue Bucky has ever seen just barely clinging to the edges of his irises.

He looks like some kind of goddamn avenging angel.

Bucky bites his lip.

Slowly, Steve stands up. He _picks_ _Bucky_ _up_ like it’s nothing, and what the fuck, they did _not_ talk about this part, he _hates_ Steve right now, he does not like getting picked up like some damsel in distress, just because he has to piss doesn't mean he needs help, and _oh_ _God_ , he can feel his bladder sloshing around inside him as Steve walks with him to the en-suite in their bedroom. He puts Bucky down against the far wall, then goes to sit on the little bench seat they have in there. He crosses one leg over his knee, relaxed as anything.

Bucky is _seething_.

And also really, really close to pissing himself.

It’s alarming.

He wants to ask Steve again.

Fuck, what is it about this game that _does_ this to him?

He’s shaking. It’s an effort to stand.

“Steve,” Bucky says sharply.

It’s a warning, a plea.

Steve just smirks.

“What’s up, Buck?”

“Can I…” He starts to ask, but nope, he just can’t do it.

He is _not_ _gonna_ _beg_.

No way.

“Noticed you’re wearing your favorite boots,” Steve says conversationally.

Shit.

Oh fuck.

Shit.

Miscalculation, his mind screams. No fucking shit. He _loves_ these boots. Why is he such a vain degenerate? How could he have just _fallen_ into this trap? Now the option of just pissing his pants and avoiding the _other_ _thing_ is gone, because he isn’t gonna want to wreck the boots, and Steve knows it.

“Let me,” he says, quiet. His tone is flat, decidedly not an interrogative. More like an order. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.

Steve just smirks. “Hmm?” he asks. He’s smiling, but his eyes are hard with arousal.

“Steve, I have to pee.” This time it’s a statement.

“I can see that,” Steve says. Bucky is sliding up and down the wall, both hands between his legs now, shameless.

“I don’t want to ruin these boots, Steve, come _on_ ,” Bucky says, frustrated in his desperation.

“Do you want me to take them off?”

Actually…yes, he does want that. He didn’t even know that was an _option_. This is fucking _great_. He nods.

“Okay,” Steve says. He stands up, stalking toward Bucky like he’s prey. His pupils are blown to hell. Demonic blue slivers on point. Bucky isn’t proud of it, but he nearly pisses himself right there. As it is, his boxers get a little wet, but Steve doesn’t need to know that.

Shit.

He’s shaking so much that it’s hard for Steve to get the laces undone. But Steve is patient, and he gets the knots free. He gets a hand on Bucky’s left boot.

“Lift your foot,” Steve says.

Bucky freezes.

He…can’t.

He, like, physically cannot do so without pissing himself.

“Tell you what,” Steve says. “You get through this, and I’ll give you a little gift, make things easier on you.”

That sounds…way too good to be true.

But Bucky doesn’t care anymore. He loves these boots, and piss doesn’t fucking wash out of leather. He _knows_. He takes a deep breath, squeezes every muscle in his body, and lifts his left foot.

Steve is blessedly quick about it. Bucky drops his socked foot back down, and immediately grabs himself with both hands, doubling over. Steve waits at his feet until he’s ready to go again.

The right foot is the same. Bucky grins and bears it while Steve removes his boot, then doubles over grabbing himself until he thinks he might be able to stand like a normal human person without fucking pissing all over himself.

When he’s done, Steve takes the boots and puts them on the counter. Then he goes back to his seat.

“So, your gift,” Steve says. Fuck, his tone is way too conversational. Bucky is screwed as all hell.

Fuck.

“Five seconds,” Steve says, and Bucky blanches.

No way.

This isn’t happening.

No.

“Come on,” Steve says. “It will make it easier. Lessen the pressure a little bit. Five seconds.”

 _Fuck_ , no.

Bucky knows that pissing a little will make it harder, _not_ easier, to hold.

Still, the temptation is so strong.

And Steve is telling him to…

“You better be pissing right now,” Steve orders, and fuck, Bucky is.

It feels so good, he moans.

Oh God, the relief –

“Stop!”

Bucky screams.

He can’t hold it in anymore.

It’s so much worse after that.

His bladder is so fucking full.

He starts to cry, quietly.

“Bucky,” Steve says, and Bucky thinks he’s going to say, “It’s okay,” or something else nice.

“Again,” Steve says again instead, and Bucky, like some fucked up Pavlovian Pomeranian with a metal arm and a pee fetish, immediately starts pissing some more.

Steve gives him seven seconds before he yells stop.

Bucky collapses back against the wall.

He’s vibrating with the need at this point. His face is a mess of sweat and tears, skin burning with the intensity of his blush. Both his hands are jammed firmly into his crotch.

He’s not sure how much longer he can _stand_. 

He’s gonna have to say it. Fuck.

But Steve is speaking again.

“Let go for ten seconds, Buck. And I swear to God, not a second more.”

Steve’s trembling, getting off so hard on this. His pants are soaked with precome.

Bucky wants to _lick_ him. Fuck, he has to piss so bad. Needs it. He does the ten seconds. Stops. Doesn’t even know how, really.

He’s not even in his head anymore.

And then all of a sudden it bursts out.

“Please, Steve, fuck, _please_.”

He’s begging.

And he doesn’t even care.

“Please. What.” Steve bites out the words, like it’s costing him every ounce of his self-control.

“Please, I have to piss so bad, I’m so full, oh my God, Steve, _please_.”

“What are you asking me for here, Buck?” Steve asks, and somehow he’s forced his voice to be annoyingly even and calm again.

Bucky _hates_ him for it.

“Permission,” Bucky clarifies, then adds, “God, _please_ ,” as a little bit of piss leaks out – and _not_ on purpose this time.

He’s not going to wet himself this way.

That isn’t the game.

In another minute, that isn’t going to matter, though.

Bucky’s going into hysterics.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, _please_ , just let me pee,” Bucky is practically screaming now. “Tell me I can fucking piss, Jesus Christ, fucking _please_!”

Steve is too busy coming untouched to be able to give permission.

Bucky is openly sobbing now, and the words just keep coming out.

He can’t stop them.

He _needs_ Steve to tell him he can _go_.

“Please, Jesus, Steve, I can’t hold it any more. Please tell me I can _go_. Oh my God, Steve, this is so hard to hold, you have no idea, oh _fuck_ , goddammit, Steve, _please_. Please let me pee.”

Steve is just staring, apparently so lost and turned on that nothing is actually registering. Steve has actually forgotten to play his part.

Bucky wants to die.

He’s not fucking pissing until Steve says he can.

That’s it.

He’s decided.

He’s going to do what Steve says if it kills him.

Which, it could. Probably will, someday, in fact.

But not today.

He keeps begging.

“Steve. I physically cannot hold it anymore. My bladder is fucking _full_ , goddamnit. Please, Steve, it’s getting so hard to hold it. Oh my God, Steve. Please. I’m gonna piss. Tell me I can piss. Steve. _Steve_!”

Bucky is yelling, and suddenly, finally, Steve snaps out of it.

“Go. Right now.” Steve says, eyes dark.

Bucky loses it.

He’s pissing so hard it’s almost painful.

There’s so _much_ of it.

Steve is on his knees on the floor in front of him in an instant, watching with rapt attention. With shaking fingers, Bucky unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans. He shoves his boxers down. He can’t stop pissing, so his dick just kind of flops around. He spasms, a full body thing, and for a second his stream hits Steve in the face. Steve just licks his lips and keeps staring.

Dimly, Bucky realizes he is still talking.

Oh fuck, what is he _saying_? What fresh embarrassment is this? He tries to tune into himself.

“…thank you, thank you, oh my God, thank you, had to go so bad, thank you for _letting_ me, giving me permission, thank you, thank you…”

Oh.

Lovely.

He’s fucking _thanking_ Steve for letting him piss all over their bathroom floor. Fantastic. Dignity, meet guillotine. Jesus, it’s like a little flood. It’s even more than last time. How is that even possible?

He can literally _feel_ his bladder deflating, and it’s such a fucking _relief_ that all that piss isn’t inside him anymore.

Holy _God_.

Fuck.

 _Ah_.

He’s finally done.

He’s so relieved he cries again. And then he’s on the floor, all of a sudden. Realizes in the back of his mind that his legs have given out. His entire musculature is literally exhausted from the effort of holding it in. Which is really saying something, considering he’s a goddamn super soldier.

Steve coos at him, kissing him hard on the mouth, and says, “Oh my fucking God, Bucky, that was so fucking hot.”

Then he’s sliding forward on his knees on the floor, uncaring of the literal flood of piss Bucky just created, and lifting his husband into his arms. Steve gets them both into the shower and turns the water on warm. He kisses Bucky while he lets the water rinse off their clothes, then undresses first himself and then Bucky. He does it so gently, tugging Bucky’s tight t-shirt over his head, then tugging his jeans down and off. He even helps Bucky step out of his socks one at a time.

Bucky is still kind of floating with it all, and Steve can tell. He’s not unaffected himself. So he spends long minutes massaging shampoo and conditioner into Bucky’s hair, then applies Bucky’s twice-a-week anti-frizz treatment for him, too. He keeps contact between their skin the whole time. He touches nipples and asses and forearms and palms. He caresses everything, takes care of Bucky, makes sure to get him nice and clean. Then he turns off the shower, wraps Bucky in a towel, and dumps him onto their bed. Steve follows him down a minute later, pulling the comforter up over them as he goes.

“In a few minutes, I’ll get us some water and snacks. We can watch that new movie you liked, I rented it for you already.”

Bucky smiles, “Thank you.”

He can feel himself coming out of it, Steve’s gentle aftercare the perfect thing after such an intense encounter.

“I love you,” Bucky says.

“I love you, too,” Steve says. “You were perfect.”

Bucky beams. He was pretty fantastic, wasn’t he?

“I’m sorry about the end, though,” Steve apologizes.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, lips pressed against the shell of Steve’s ear. “It’s okay.”

Steve giggles. “You practically exploded.”

“Yeah, I really fucking did,” Bucky laughs.

“Did it hurt?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “in the good way, though.”

“And the…the begging?” Steve asks.

“Was so fucking hot I think I had an out of body experience.” Bucky smirks. “Seriously, Steve, I loved it. I’m glad we tried it.”

“Yeah?” Steve says, smiling himself.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers. Then he turns smug. “I don’t have to ask how you felt about it.”

“I almost passed out,” Steve says. “I’m sorry I was out of it for a few minutes though. I really am. I…didn’t expect to come like that, though maybe I should have. I’m sorry I kind of floated off myself there for a few minutes. It was wrong of me.”

Steve looks sad.

Fuck _that_.

“Hey,” Bucky says, “It’s okay. You’re a great dom. You were great for this, Steve. Really. Nobody said you have to be invulnerable. I want you to feel good, too. And, I mean, we have the word. It’s you and me. It’s okay.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“Plus, honestly?” Bucky ducks his head, speaks into Steve’s chest. He’s embarrassed to admit this part. “The edge of panic felt really fucking good. Not something I want for all the time, but…yeah. It worked out okay. And um, it was pretty fucking flattering, watching you lose your mind over me like that.” He grins against Steve’s left nipple.

“I love you,” Steve says, like that’s all that matters. And fuck, it really is.

“I love you, too, punk,” Bucky says back. He watches Steve’s wedding ring glint in the evening sunlight as Steve reaches over to set an alarm for 20 minutes on his phone, to remind them to get up and eat after a short cuddle-nap. They fall asleep entwined together, the fading sun warming their bare backs.

It’s them, and so it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! So for a quick run-down of kinks and potential squicks. Bucky cries a lot in this one, mostly from overstimulation. He (accidentally) pees on Steve's face for a few seconds (Steve doesn't mind, he just kinda licks at it and moves on). Steve is kinda kneeling in pee at one point, but not really caring or aware of it, he's more focused on the action and Bucky. There is, obviously, wetting and some major pee desperation going on here. There is a lot of desperate begging while Bucky is in a vague subspace.This is a previously negotiated scene between two married men who love and trust each other very much, the only time when something unexpected happens is Steve picks Bucky up at one point which was not discussed, and Bucky mentally bitches about it a lot. And also, Steve kind of loses the plot at at crucial moment (Doms can get overwhelmed too!), and Bucky gets a bit panicky and frantic because he wants to do the thing "right." It works out, though. And there's plenty of cuddles and aftercare at the end. I'm pretty sure that's everything. If you read, I hope you enjoy! Pease consider leaving a kind comment, if you're up to it.


End file.
